Not my strength

While there are things that I intensely dislike about getting older, such as my rapidly diminishing collagen levels, my face requiring (but sadly not receiving) daily threading and the ridiculous amount of time I spend trying to locate my missing keys and phone … there are other parts that I love.

For example, very few people intimidate me these days.

I went to a work Christmas gathering last night (the third one I’ve attended, they are a festive bunch), and had a fabulous time talking to everyone from my fellow worker bees to the bigwigs.

Mind you the bigwigs are all very down to earth and approachable, but it was still a buzz to be myself and cheerily shoot the breeze with them.

It reminded me of how uncomfortable I used to be talking to just about everyone in my younger days. I found most social interactions completely terrifying and stressful.

But deciding I wanted to be a magazine editor meant putting those fears aside and just getting on with it.

And I got better and better at it along the way.

One of my bosses a while back told me they would no longer be sending me to client meetings because it “wasn’t my strength”. At the time I thought that’s bull crap, but it still stung.

These days I would tell them it was bull crap because women in their 50s don’t give a shite about your opinion of them and we’ve lost most of our filters (along with our phones).

Talking to people is most definitely my strength.

I am finally starting to believe that I have many career strengths. I am also finding my voice and expressing my opinions again in the workplace.

I have been a journalist since I was 17. I have learned a lot over the ensuing years and I know things. Understanding how people tick, for example, is part of my DNA.

I can chitter chat with just about anybody at any time about anything.

All the conversations that I have feed into my understanding of people. They make me a better communicator when it comes to the written word.

The realisation last night that I am not intimidated was a powerful one. I liked how it felt and it made me smile as I slipped off into the night to catch the bus home for dinner with my kids.

Now, if I could just stop mentally replaying everything I say to everyone and chastising myself for it …

Maybe that is what happens in my 60s?

Song of the day: Cher “Believe”

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